


it comes seeping in (when you close your eyes)

by doctorkaitlyn



Series: tumblr fics & ficlets. [117]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hallucinations, Nogitsune Allison, Other, Possession, Season/Series 03, Self-cest, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-23 01:12:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10709034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctorkaitlyn/pseuds/doctorkaitlyn
Summary: The girl wearing her face cranes in closer, until their noses are almost touching, until Allison can smell the thick, rotten smell pouring from the girl’s lips, from her very pores, until she’s nearly gagging on it.The other girl’s eyes,hereyes, are very black, impossibly black, and when Allison stares at them, she has the distinct feeling that the ground underneath her feet is tilting, that she’s about to fall into a deep hole that she’ll never be able to claw her way out of.





	it comes seeping in (when you close your eyes)

**Author's Note:**

> a few months ago, I received the following prompt:
> 
> "I'm so excited to send you a prompt!! I hope you can do it, it's not the most normal — but I discovered selfcest recently and was wondering if you'd write a fluffy Allison/Allison story. Maybe where she's caught in a dreamstate and finds a double of herself that she's able to connect with in new ways."
> 
> I couldn't figure out a way to comfortably write fluffy selfcest... so this happened instead. takes place in a divergence of season 3b, where Allison is possessed by the nogitsune instead of Stiles.

Outside of the small clearing, the woods are shrouded in absolute darkness. Allison can’t make out a single tree beyond the ring encircling her, can’t hear a single sound; there’s no wind, no sticks crunching under the feet of animals, no birdsong. It’s as if the world, aside from her small circle of grass, has ended, simply dropped out of existence.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, a tiny, inconsequential voice whispers that that isn’t possible; worlds don’t simply cease to exist. They fall apart first, crack and crumble, leave behind dust and chaos and pain. 

But every time she tries to focus on that tiny voice, tries to give it room to speak, it disappears into the ether. 

Truthfully, she isn’t sure if she even heard it in the first place. Maybe it was just her imagination. 

She returns her attention to the task at hand. She’s standing at one end of the clearing, almost close enough to have her back pressed against a rough tree trunk. On the opposite end of the clearing, a target, illuminated like an actress doing a monologue at center stage, painted in faded red and white circles, is hanging from a branch overhanging the clearing. It’s the only branch doing so, the only one breaching the perfect circle of the clearing. Despite its old appearance, the target doesn’t have a single mark on it, no sign that it’s ever been used before. 

Allison wonders how long it’s been hanging out here. She wonders _who_ hung it out here and abandoned it in such quick measure. 

“Are you going to shoot anytime soon?”

The bored voice, so familiar in its rises and falls, in its pronunciation, comes from her left. She doesn’t turn her head to look at the mouth that it comes from, but she glances over from the corner of her eye, fingers tightening around the grip of her bow. That area of the clearing seems shrouded in shadow, as if the darkness that’s taken the rest of the world is slowly starting to creep into the circle, but she can see glimpses in the dark, pale skin and long legs protruding from a skirt and moving metal, a knife being twirled around a finger. 

She doesn’t answer the question. She turns her attention back to the target, motionless at the end of the branch. She pulls the string back and adjusts the bow slightly, unconsciously; it’s an extension of her arm, has been for so long that she no longer has to think about it. There’s no wind to interfere with her shot, no sun to glare down into her eyes and make her wince; her aim is true. The arrow is going to land right in the middle of the target, right where it’s supposed to be. 

She stops breathing and releases the arrow. 

It flies straight, bisects the middle of the clearing, exactly on the course she set for it. Her lips curve into a smile, a smile that Kate would have chided her for, for letting herself feel triumph so prematurely. But Allison knows that she’s succeeded, that the arrow is going exactly where she wants. 

She blinks. 

The arrow quivers in the trunk of the tree that the target dangles from, almost ten feet below the target. 

Allison blinks again. 

That can’t be right. 

A loud, exasperated sigh comes from her left, and there’s a flurry of movement as the person hovering in the darkness gets to their feet fluidly, _too_ fluidly. 

“What a surprise,” they say, voice dripping with derision as they snatch the bow from Allison’s slack fingers with slim, pale hands. “You missed again.” They bump Allison aside with their hip and snatch an arrow, identical to the one that she just fired, from the quiver hanging over her back. 

(She doesn’t remember feeling the weight of the quiver when she fired.)

“I thought you were supposed to be good at this.” The arrow notches to the bow perfectly, like two halves of a broken vase coming together. With absolutely no hesitation, the person makes the shot. 

The arrow flies perfectly straight, slams into the absolute center of the target with a strangely liquid thud, like someone’s head being smashed against a concrete floor.

The arrow that Allison fired is gone, and there’s no sign that she fired it in the first place, no mar in the trunk’s smooth bark. 

“How?” she asks, stepping forward with an idea to cross the clearing and examine the target, the tree. “I-”

She’s stopped by a hand grasping her chin, strong enough for her jawbone to crack. A thumb digs deep into the soft flesh of her cheek, while the others press along the other side of her face, into the dip under her eye socket. When she tries to yank away, the pressure only increases, and when she finds herself being pulled, twisted, she goes along with it, turns her head. 

“Do it again.” The hiss comes from between thin, chapped lips that mirror her own. “This time, don’t miss.” When Allison doesn’t respond immediately, the lips turn up into a smirk, and dimples pop into the cheeks on either side of the mouth. 

Allison knows those dimples, has seen them in every smiling picture that’s ever been taken of her, has heard time and time again that they’re one of her best features. 

“Or are you too scared of failure?” The fingers tighten impossibly on her jaw, tight enough that Allison feels like they should be going through her skin, should be digging into her insides and curving around her bones. “You are, aren’t you?” The girl wearing her face-

(because that has to be what this is, this can't be another hallucination brought on by spiked punch, but there’s also no way that she is standing in front of herself, goading herself on with a hissing voice that mostly sounds like herself but also sounds like Kate and her father and Gerard and simultaneously sounds like none of them, sounds like the monster waiting in the back of a cave in every fairy tale she’s ever read)

-cranes in closer, until their noses are almost touching, until Allison can smell the thick, rotten smell pouring from the girl’s lips, from her very pores, until she’s nearly gagging on it.

The other girl’s eyes, _her_ eyes, are very black, impossibly black, and when Allison stares at them, she has the distinct feeling that the ground underneath her feet is tilting, that she’s about to fall into a deep hole that she’ll never be able to claw her way out of. 

“I’m not afraid,” she forces out. She raises her arms to shove her doppelganger away, but by the time her arms finish their movement, there’s only empty air in front of her. 

Her bow is back in her hand.

The clearing is silent. Beyond the trees, there’s only darkness, and at the end of the clearing, there’s a faded target just asking for an arrow to be sunk into the middle of it.

“Are you going to shoot anytime soon?” 

The voice comes from her left, and when she glances from the corner of her eye, she can see someone in the patch of shadows that has seeped from between the trees and into the clearing. She can make out a turquoise sweater and a pale face. 

She ignores the voice and raises her bow, lining it up for a shot that will fly true. 

Just as her fingers twitch to pull back the string, a voice rings out in the back of her mind, a girl’s voice, a voice that is as familiar as her own but that _isn’t_ her own, a voice that is calling her name. 

She pauses in mid-draw and waits, but the voice doesn’t come again, and she returns herself to the task at hand. 

She shoots, and the arrow flies perfectly straight. 

She blinks. 

She misses.

**Author's Note:**

> as always, I can be found on [tumblr.](http://banshee-cheekbones.tumblr.com/) :)


End file.
